Page 59 of The Pucking Date
She lifts her chin, defiant even as her pulse hammers visibly at her throat. “Positive.”
The challenge in her voice, the way she’s practically daring me to prove her wrong,
It’s gasoline on a fire that’s been burning for months.
“Wrong answer, Red.”
I catch her wrist, pull her flush against me, and crush my mouth to hers. The kiss is desire and hunger and pure fucking ruin. Months of denial detonate in a single heartbeat.
A sound breaks out of me, deep and guttural, because she’s not just hot.
She’s a goddamn wildfire. And I want to burn.
Her hands hit my chest in surprise, maybe to push me back. But they don’t. They clutch. Curl. Fist into my shirt like she needs something to hang on to.
Then she’s reaching, fingertips grazing skin, nails scraping up my spine, dragging me deeper into the inferno. Her touch is scorching, burning through my skin, until I feel it in the pit of my stomach.
She whimpers against my mouth—low, wrecked, desperate—and it undoes me. She’s not fighting this. She’s feeding it.
Feeding me.
And I take it.
My hand slides up her back, tangling in her hair, tiltingher head until I can taste the yes she’s too stubborn to say out loud.
Her lips part. Her breath hitches. And I can’t stop anymore. I need a taste of her. I need it like my next breath.
“Are you soakin’ for me, darlin’?” Gravel rasps my voice as my fingers slide under her silk dress, up her leg, to the inside of her thigh, feeling the heat and wetness. My other hand dips to the heavy weight of her breast, brushing my thumb over her hard nub in soft, small circles that pull a wrecked moan from her.
“More. I need more.”
She winds her arms around my neck, kissing me back with ferocity, licking into my mouth as if staking her claim. There are only her lips, her tongue, her hands, and the all-consuming need between us, the world drowned out around us.
My hand is caressing the nape of her neck, sliding it into her hair and tugging. “You’re so damned beautiful, Red. There’s no one like you.”
She pulls my shirt free from my pants. “Off,” she demands, yanking on it. I grin against her skin, and let her go only long enough for the shirt to hit the floor. She splays her hands on my chest, then leans back and looks at me, her eyes sparkling in appreciation.
“You are…” Her eyes lock with mine as her hands trace the dips along my abs.
“All yours, darlin’.” My dick is desperately hard and throbbing, my mouth is watering, and I can’t hold back any longer. I unbutton her dress, swipe her red lace bra to the side, duck my head, and take her hard nipple into my mouth, feeling her nails digging into my shoulders. The fingers of my other hand are playing in her core, her needy whimpers skittering across my skin.
“You are so fucking wet, Red.”
And then I slide to my knees, lifting the dress up and pushing her panties down. More red lace, soaked with her juices. When I look up at her, I see her chest rising, her breasts exposed from my touch. She’s fucking breathtaking.
“I’m really hungry for you,” I snarl. “Now be a good girl and let me eat you.”
Without waiting for her answer, I lift her leg over my shoulder and bury my face in her pussy. The first long lick I’ve been craving for weeks is dizzying.
“You taste sweet, sugar,” I purr, swiping my tongue up and down her opening, feeling her pulse around my tongue. Her legs are shaking, but my hands are holding her in place.
“Finn, fuck,” she sobs, shamelessly grinding her hips in my face, wild and unfiltered. “I need you, Finn, please.” Groaning, I continue eating her, inserting a finger into her soaked center, then another.
Her moans echo off the walls. Again and again, she rocks her hips against my face, setting the rhythm, chasing her high, the orgasm I can almost taste on my tongue. She holds onto my head, pulling on me desperately, while my hands are firmly planted on her hips.
I find her clit and bite, letting my teeth skate across the top of it. Her back arches, pressing herself further against my mouth. Her breath is laboring as her clit starts to pulsate.
“Oh,” she moans, her fingers gripping my hair, pulling me closer.
